Empty Oceans
by PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow
Summary: Before the world ended (in a very loud bang), a committee of nations formed in the hopes of preserving mankind - however, they forgot a few people along the way. Now, years later, older and less there, Arthur scrambles to get them all back together while there's enough of them left.
1. The Silo

**Chapter 1**

 _The Silo_

Arthur stood on land, a sticky, many-times used Safety-First suit clung to his body, and he was very unhappy. The monitor he held closely beeped lazily, detecting a hint of life somewhere far away. He glanced around, trying to locate its general direction. Near him, behind a massive glass screen, a team of scrawny and scared men watched, their fists clenched. They stared at him, and he stared anywhere but. The landscape around him was ashy. A pale yellow dust covered the entirety of what he could see, laying finely over the mountain that loomed behind him. A hot sun bubbled overhead, crowded by clouds. Its sharp rays burned even through his suit. He glanced back at the team, at last, and his inner headpiece buzzed.

"See what we mean? The Locator seems to be malfunctioning lately."

"Ever since yesterday?"

"Yes. It seems that something offset it. Ruth went out to look."

"Shouldn't there be two spots then? Or am I searching for the mysterious blink instead of Ruth?"

A buzzing silence. Arthur glanced at them. They huddled in a conversation before the leader pried away and leaned towards the window further, holding his own monitor out. He mumbled something else.

"Where did Ruth go?"

"I'm asking you." Arthur shifted uncomfortably, walking closer to the other blinking dot. "And how do you know this isn't her?"

"It's the same one as yesterday and it's stagnant." The man gulped audibly. Arthur could imagine him picking this wiry moustache. "Ruth would be moving, don't you think? Unless she's…"

"Dead?"

"Well, to put it bluntly, yes."

"And you want me to hunt this behemoth thing?"

"Yes. Please."

A simpering smile was added to that. Arthur sighed, shouldering the bag that had begun to slip off his shoulders. Food supplies and other necessities were packed in there, in case he got lost or worse. Arthur turned off his headpiece and, with a wave, heading out towards the blank nothingness that stretched before him.

The walk proved longer than expected. The blinking dot on his monitor, which he tucked away in front of his chest and hooked up his his face plate, seemed to grow further away the closer he got. No wonder Ruth would have gotten lost. And for a normal human to go out for so long didn't necessarily bode well. Arthur would be lucky to find her in one piece at this rate.

He glanced around, trying to reabsorb his surroundings. He tried to remember the area. A shattered building lay off to one side, surrounding by pale bones that stuck out, long and equine. A crippled silo hobbled near it, now nothing but a rubble of bricks and decayed hay. A farmland. No wonder, it was barren and blank and the perfect amount of space to fit an entire civilisation in an Enviro-Build. Arthur cursed himself. Why would he forget what lay above? He'd been down there only 147 years. A blink in his lifetime. He shouldn't be forgetting so easily.

He continued for what seemed to be two hours, thinking about the wasteland and the work he left undone back in the Enviro-Build. He stopped short, in steps and in thought, when he saw a plume of rising smoke. He checked the map, and he was right on top of the dot. Perfect. He continued warily towards the location, seeing clay building rise from the earth, surrounded by a din of human chatter. Civilisation? This gave Arthur pause. Out here?

He tuned his headpiece out, trying to locate Ruth's. If people lived here, maybe the atmosphere wasn't all that harmful. However, he ended up finding nothing but static. He didn't even care for Ruth that much, why was he here? He grew flustered and increasingly curious. The language he heard sounded like English. Which was a good sign. And there were children racing around the brinks, another good sign. Dangerous folk don't usually keep their kids wandering around.

Sensible dangerous folk didn't, at least.

The tiny village became clear before him. People walked by, giving him curious glances. No one wore a suit. A woman paused before him, wearing a tattered rag with faded blue and red stripes dancing along its sides. She stopped and turned, finding another woman. She pointed and made a gesture with her hand. They both gave him another glance and ran into the centre of their village. Arthur continued to stomp ahead, weary of the weight of his shoes and suit. He felt like an alien intruding on ancient civilisation. Which he was. In a way.

The edge of the town brought upon smells of cooking meat (what kind of meat?) and the sound of more chatter. Arthur paused at the lip of a clay cave that pointed out into the landscape. A man appeared from inside, holding a long spear and a grim expression.

"How'd'ya here?"

"I walked." Arthur said.

"Who?"

"My name is Arthur."

"Come peace for other woman-kind come 'round sun before?"

"Ah… Yes." Arthur felt understanding creep into him. It felt like his brain cells were evolving to match their dialect, which still held a root of English. Enough to make sense of at least. He glanced around the tribe, easily falling into their tone.

"Where?"

"Go hut where other woman-kind stand and stay and look out to bring meat, meat-hut she stay, seem ok. Leader, great one, say it ok."

"Leader? Who?"

"You come peace he find you. I see no weapon of mortal destruction upon you I see no danger but danger ring and I come and I put this," he pointed to the tip of his spear, "through neck flesh." He pointed at Arthur's neck. "But, first, face must see."

Arthur pried off the headpiece. Unlike the Out-Searchers back in the Enviro-Build, he didn't need to keep the suit on for protection. But radiation tended to give him a nasty headache. At least it didn't kill him. The piece slipped off and he shook his head, letting the his grey-blond hair fall into his eyes, curling into the sweat that rung his eyebrows. He felt the wrinkles on the sides of his lips. Agelessness had been a virtue behind the mask.

The protector grunted and pointed out, returning to his cave. Arthur folded the headpiece, the big metal blocks sliding neatly into place so all that remained was the bulletproof glass and a tarpaulin-like back, compacted like a book. He slid it into his bag.

The air around here didn't seem as toxic, for whatever reason. Perhaps something had changed in the past century? Unlikely. The committee predicted the fallout aftermath would last for nearly a thousand years, if not more. They, under one of their suggestions, rigged the Enviro-Build operations to give a message when that time came to go check the outside world. If the people there managed to thrive long enough. They probably would. Key word: probably.

A child ran up to Arthur and tugged at his suit, at the thick material and its puffy insulation. He prodded at it until Arthur shooed him off. The child hissed at him in laughter and rushed away. Arthur checked his bag for anything missing. As he rummaged, another person spoke to him.

"You be thinking he's little thief, huh? He's not, he's innocent and only play like. Small child, rude but kind and you thinking we rotten people, don't you be thinking?"

"I be thinking you to shut up." Arthur scowled.

The young man before him glared back, with one eye. The other eyes wasn't there at all. It gave Arthur a pause. The socket where the left eye should have been seared shut, the bushy eyebrow leaning into the empty space.

"Stop annoying!" Another voice called to him. A woman, the same one from earlier Arthur noted, walked up to the young man, grasping his shoulder. He huffed.

"The stranger."

"I know," she pried him away from Arthur. "You be picking and bugging and next thing bam you incinerate."

Arthur was growing very fed up with their dialect. Perhaps the leader spoke proper English. He asked around for the Leader, Great One, and they directed him with a humble nod. Before approached what seemed to be a reforged barn, sloppily but securely sealed back up, he asked one of the men who crouched before it. They wore robes which flourished around them as they sat. Their heads were bowed. The one he asked looked up, a puckered hole where his mouth should have been. Arthur winced and apologised, going to another one. This man was bald as a rock, no hair anywhere that Arthur could discern, and horridly wrinkled as well. But he had a mouth which was just fine for Arthur.

"Have you seen a woman, dark hair, dark skin, named Ruth?"

"Come long time," his voice croaked out. "But gone fast. Towards Old Place."

"Thank you." Arthur felt the need to bow.

And then it was time to enter the barn. What he would witness in there, he had no idea. He anticipated an old man, hobbling and blind and crooked. Or perhaps a young, smarmy prince who had somehow risen to status of Great One. None of which came close to accurate.

Arthur walked in, asking to see the Great One from one of the other monkish men who stood guard. The man, who was crooked and hobbling and crude, nodded and pulled at the door.

The stench hit Arthur first.

And then the Great One.

Arthur shouldn't have trembled so fiercely, nor should he have felt the awful need to retch in the corner. He'd seen worse things, he told himself over and over, horrible things not even close to this. He'd seen slaughter and pillaging, he'd seen cruelty of all levels of humanity, he'd seen the ancient wars. Shouldn't the evil inflicted on man by man be much worse than simple deformity?

But no. This was not simple deformity. This was far from "simple". This was beyond imagination. The committee expected mutations to come from the eminent radiation, but who could have predicted this?

"You… Fear me?" The voice was neither young nor old. But it was sad, and kind.

"Am I not supposed to?"

"No…" the thing, Arthur thought rudely, shifted towards him. Its sagging eyes focused lamely on him. "My people take pride in me. Those who live are worshipped, for they are the strongest. And you, you're not one of my people. You smell different. Different from the other woman, too." Its shapeless skin turned vaguely to the side.

"You mean Ruth? She came to you?" Of course she would. Arthur grimaced at the sounds the flesh made, oozing around.

"Yes, only to speak. She was searching for something but she was so hungry. And she smelled of death from the inside. She is soft, from somewhere kinder to her skin. She could only barely survive in my Town's atmosphere. I am surprised you've made it so far." A lecherous grin spread across its face, revealing, tooth by jagged, bony tooth, a grin that took up most of its lopsided face.

Arthur shivered. Why had he come here anyway? He began to doubt himself, taking a few steps back. Something felt awful, and it wasn't the air. This building had the purest air he had breathed so far. Not quite like the Enviro-Build, but damn near close. Arthur felt a hand clamp on his shoulder.

"You go where? You un-done. You need stay, stay and hear." The hand gave him a shove, so Arthur, breathless, stumbled forwards. The one-eyed boy from earlier stared him down. Arthur felt malice unlike anything before. "Perfect." He spat. "You come from legend to destroy." A blow reached Arthur's chin, sending him clambering to the floor. A spot of blood blossomed in his cheek. "PERFECT OMEN!" He kicked Arthur in the ribs, sending a shock of pain racing up his body.

The creature loomed over him, emitting an odour Arthur finally recognised.

Rot.

"My child," the creature rumbled, "You do well, you make me proud. I will reward you once you finish." The mass of flesh shivered in excitement.

Arthur felt ringing in his ears, seeing feet clatter towards him. The sandalled, misshaped toes crossed his path, kicking his face and nose. A burst of blood shot out his nose, splattering against the curled tile. Hands gripped his legs, dragging his face against the stones, enough to black out his vision. His mind still raced. What had he said to offend these people? Another stone hit his temple, sending an ooze of pain that seeped into darkness.

When he woke, he was stricken with a face full of decaying hay. The mulch smeared across his face and up his nose. He pushed himself up, assaulted by the pain in his chest and head. His hands trembled, making him throw up his morning's coffee and dry bread.

Once he finished coughing, another moan escaped, but not from him. He turned towards the source, seeing a clump of clothing shift towards him, a hand following. He winced, fearing more assault.

"He..Help!"

He recognised the voice and crawled over, ignoring the pain flaring all along his body, down to his toes and nerves. His nose still burned. At least he smelled mostly blood and not the compost. He reached the other body, grasping for her hands and raising himself to his trembling knees. He didn't heal like he used to, he cursed. He felt his wounds stitch up, steadily, but his life's blood no longer ran so strong.

"Ruth?" he whispered, focusing his mind from slipping back to unconsciousness. He touched her face, turning her towards him. Her faceplate had cracked, showing a splattering of blood. Her eyes turned towards him, her breath staggered.

"You came…? You're not even part of the… the team…" she laughed weakly.

"No, but I can withstand all of this." He gestured to the air, raising her up slightly. She gave him a broken-toothed grin. They'd beaten bloody. He was fearful to look down, fearing that part of her wasn't there.

"You're the perfect. I knew it. Remember… When we spoke?"

"This isn't the time to be sentimental," Arthur cut her off briskly, pulling her face plate all the way off and trying to find something to use to dab away her injuries. His bag had been stolen, he realised too late. No wonder he could move without its weight. But that also meant that he didn't have any medical supplies. Or food. "Ah… I don't think I can heal that anyway…" he realised her legs were beyond repair. She'd felt so light.

"Arthur." She snapped, clarity ringing into her eyes like a bell. She pulled out a compact drive from her headset, a part that had been mercifully saved. She shoved it in his arms. "There's a reason I left. And it wasn't to search for them." She wheezed, "I need you to hear this. The Committee they vowed to restore the earth."

"We did. Oh god, we did. Has that much time passed?"

"I think so. Something's been wrong with…" she trembled, forcing harder through her sentence, "The time system down there. Look, Arthur, they'll burn this building down, can't you smell the gasoline?"

"What… I…" Arthur looked about, sniffing a hint of it under everything else. Tears stung his eyes.

"You need to leave. Take that. Save us, please." Tears crept out of her eyes. "I knew you'd come. Dear god save me, I knew you would… You promised us so long ago." She slouched out of his arms, not quite dead but mercifully released from her task. Arthur laid her down gently. The smell of gasoline became even more potent. He tucked the drive into an inner pocket of his suit and staggered to his feet. Old strength began to rise up in him. The mercy of having someone believe in him brought his energy back.

It was nostalgic. Before they praised the country where the sun never set and wounds were nothing more than blemishes. Now, of course, he hurt like hell. And he had to get out of the silo. The only ways out were through the shattered front doors or the top of a very unsafe looking staircase. He glanced at Ruth who stared at him. Her crushed legs spilling out like reverse angel wings. She pointed hazily towards the other side, where a slip of yellowed, dusty light spilled through. He crept through, pushing the broken bricks, ending up on the other side of the silo. He heard a chanting on the other side and smelled the smoke. They marched towards him. He felt an eerie sense of nostalgia.

With a bitter thought he realised they'd cremate Ruth. And who was he, not giving her a burial? The guilt gnawed at him. But it was what she wanted. And when she wanted something she meant business.

Arthur broke into a sprint which drained all his energy. He ran and kept running. The Enviro-Build's rocky cliffside melted into the dusty air. He couldn't go back. The time for being there had ended.

Behind him, the silo shot up in tall, dancing flames. The heat emanated off of it, burning bright and fierce.

The heat of the burning silo washed over him.

Nothing around it was left to burn.

* * *

 _Hetalia with a heavy influence from Fallout, but not enough to be crossover._


	2. Familiar Strangers

**Chapter 2**

 _Familiar Strangers_

Arthur moved behind another building, which was stony and in a worse state of decay than even the silo. He pulled the drive out of his inner pocket and reached for his headpiece.

Of course.

He had set it in his rucksack, which had been stolen from him. That reminded him he had nothing to bandage his side with. Or food. Mainly he was worried about the food.

Long ago, maybe, he did not feel hunger. He felt need for feasts, in the days of queens and kings and tinny, dancing music. And later, much later, he needed tea at set times during the day. He had even fancied himself as a chef. What a dead dream that was. Of course his friends reminded him of the burning cold dishes incident, one that did not glorify itself as the "good old days" but nonetheless was definitely part of better times. And now, he wondered, where had his friends gone? Some went into Enviro-Builds on their own land, saving what they could in order to save themselves and their people. Others had not been quite as damagingly affected by the terrors of war and remained above ground, reverting back to the grovelling middle ages. And still others remained a mystery. Those who rebelled or denied annihilation — where had they gone?

There were ways to get back with them. And although he had forgotten what they were, they were locked away information in the safe. Or in the drive he held close to him. It had to be. Ruth's obliqueness couldn't have meant much else. He needed a way to listen to the recording.

There was the graveyard, of course, where men who went out and suffered were buried along with their suits. The Enviro-Livers often worried of contamination. As had he, once, long ago. Now he moved towards that destination, his legs and ribs still aching dully, and traces of Ruth's blood stained his pant legs. And yet, he couldn't help but think that it would be easier to just relent and return to his cramped quarters down below. Maybe if he stomped hard enough someone down there might hear him.

Overhead, the dark clouds grew darker and streaks of lightning danced inbetween. An instinct told him not to press his hands to his chest and reveal weakness. But who out in the wasteland could survive it, much less try to attack in it? The town he was in was some sort of exception. Even the air there felt purified. Nonetheless, even with the acrid smell of a dying land around him, he looked about warily. A drop of hot rain plopped on his cheek.

He needed to find shelter, and fast. A few more drops splattered his head and he broke into a jog. The only places with roofs he knew were the Enviro-Build, now painfully far behind him, a town he wasn't welcome in, and a now burnt silo. Oh, and some sort of structure up ahead. He perked up and allowed himself to run a bit faster. Even in his earlier years he wasn't quick. Soon, spikes of pain began frolicking up his chest with each breath.

The building rolled up the slope to greet him as he neared it. It turned out to be a broken down cottage. The roof was mercifully intact, much to Arthur's pleasure. He rushed towards it and pushed the door open, using his shoulder to shove it in. The inside of it smelled… Well, it smelled better than the silo, Arthur gave it that much credit. He looked around a bit more, hearing thunder crackle and a leak drip drop somewhere. He found the driest corner, covered with frayed blankets and a faded doll. He lay down on it, favouring his side, and clutched the drive tightly. He fell into a fitful, mean sleep.

He also dreamt.

He dreamt of something long ago, when he first entered his Enviro-Build room. His dream recreated the cabin almost perfectly, having had enough memory of it stored away for a lifetime, and Arthur could almost feel the scratchy pillow case that bothered him so many nights, and the dull electrical rumble that ran along the walls. However, his dream did not allow him past the four walls. He felt danger, increasing, spiking each and every hair follicle on his body.

He jerked awake, startled by a crash of lightning. He stumbled towards the window near his make-shift bed, peering out. Darkness lay over the land unrelentingly. It was dotted with the glow of lightning, but not much else. Otherwise, it was impenetrable. The oblique rain shower came as a shock. How many years had he spent either under Enviro-False light, electrical lights, or torchlights? Had he ever truly seen the night become so mercilessly dark? The shock of it startled him. He nearly felt like weeping. History had been erased from him.

But, no, crying wouldn't do anything. All it would do is cause more stress and thus more pain. And it wasn't like he was entirely hopeless. He had a hope, and it clung to his neck, sticky from his stressful sweat. He should never have considered going back down. There was no time for that. The only direction now was out, towards a head piece, towards the missing clues, and towards something akin to peace.

When morning came, he shouldered the pain of his body and hunger, and went to the graveyard. It was not far from the cottage. Hardly an hour's walk. If he had a monitor, or any technology other than the broken shards rattling in his breastplate, he could have calculated it for sure. As is, all he had to guide him was himself.

The graveyard had relatively few bodies. The bodies had not been buried. Not that anything out here could get to them, anyway. Dust coated some bodies, having been buffeted by the arid breeze. They were pale skeletons or warped mummies, some still in suits. Those were the ones he looked for. He hardly gave grave robbing a second thought as he fumbled through for a faceplate.

After a while, finding only dead plates, blank helmets, and frazzled suits, he began to feel the absent eyes leech on him. He felt their thousand stairs, wondering why he chose now to act. Or perhaps warning him that it was too soon. The nuclear waste and empty, plant-less harshness of the world did not invite life. Not yet. Arthur's skin crawled. His hand brushed other, long, dry and scorched, ones.

Finally he touched something hard. And wiry. He pulled it off a skull, hair still springing out of the shrivelled skin. He'd seen death. But nothing like this, tumorous, burnt, boiled. The headpiece was an older model, one that had been built to last. He tucked away the headpiece next to his drive, standing up and stretching his stiff legs. He looked around, trying not to but inevitably recognising some of these faces. He couldn't help but turn away and retch, his heart burning.

—

 _"I am recording this because writing would fade. I am recording this because it must be saved. My name is Ruth Orion and I live in the Enviro-Build ANGLO-SAXON. I know there are many more and they are numbered, but my people have long since stopped tying to remember them. Perhaps they were worried that the others have died off. I don't. I don't worry for a second. What sense would it make to have only one of us survive? All of us were built to last and to live, generations and generations on until we could regrow on earth. Some here say it's a myth but I have gathered evidence to contradict all the doubts…"_

Arthur listened to the recording, eating from a can of beans. The previous owners had believed the world would end and they were right. But they had not survived to live in their bunker, which Arthur had unearthed. Luckily, their food stores were abundant, as well as other things. Arthur found a new backpack, a gun, a knife, and a small kit of tools for thriving outdoors. Not that there was much outdoors left. As Arthur listened to the first recording, he picked out cans that hadn't gone bad (a lot of beans and spam) and began to fill his voided stomach. He felt his stomach lurch at the sound of Ruth's voice and worried he'd lose the precious food he'd foraged.

" _… I was seeking all the old documents, intrigued by the rumours of a woman who went out in search of hope who had never come back. She said she had heard something about an ultimate plan to bring back life. Either to reject this hope or become even more hopeful, I went out in search of the so-called document. It was written out and had an attached video. I watched it many times and read it even more. The video depicted someone with an intense resemblance to one of the school teachers here. I have not contacted him yet. It seems impossible that the man in the video from nearly two hundred years ago — according to the timestamp which I doubt — would look like a younger version of Mr. Kirkland, someone who taught me not so long ago. And yet I can't shake the feeling. Possibly he is a direct descendent. I have asked if the Kirkland family is well known and all anyone seems to know about is the man Arthur himself and another one with the first name Kirkland, which was of no help. The young man only scowled at the question and gestured to me rudely._

 _"Well, regardless, the video told of the parts that are stationed outside of every Build. And, I quote, 'when we can all reach one another again, as indicated in the program, we can regain our old glory and the earth'. Such high words seemed so filled with pride and hope I couldn't help but believe him._

 _"Another man spoke on the tape as well. This one was foreign looking. He had paler skin and dark, dark hair and such a sweet voice. He relayed that one part, an air purifier would be outside dome number seven. That was the first one, and then he counted down. I won't relay these pieces. As this is only a sort of journal. And where I plan to go should know what comes next. I suppose this piece must be near here, because it said something about Britain, which I know is an old name for the land under which we thrive. I will look into the maps and the rest of the data the following day after work. End Log ONE."_

The log cut off. Arthur paused before clicking to the next one. It felt like he was dusting off fossils trying to relocate these memories. He recognised taking that video and the trouble Alfred had uploading it to all the systems, as it kept crashing. And he would mock Kiku for making it so "crappy"! Arthur grinned at the memory. Kiku sighed and had shoved Alfred out of the way, which caused them to bicker further.

They had time to bicker, back then.

And now?

How were they all faring, so far apart? Did they all choose to forget, just like Arthur? Did they all let the memory of it seep into the back of their minds as they waited for the end of doomsday timer to set off in their Builds, calling them to the Programming Room so they could rehear all the information? And, speaking of the video, why did Ruth doubt its timestamp? It was a faultless system. Arthur lay back down on the blankets, staring out into the dismal, yellowy sky. The sun hovered but did not bring any warmth. All the heat rose from the ground and gripped the land and air, infusing it with something worse than humidity. Ruth wanted to find them all and gather them, it seemed. What did she expect to do? Walk across the ocean? She must have had a plan, of some sort.

Arthur turned back towards the recording, hitting the "next" button.

 _"It seems it will be a long journey. The places they mapped are far, but endurable. And it is supposed that these men and women in the video would be the ones travelling. Which seems odd. Wouldn't they be dead? Or were they just too hopeful? That is why I plan to find this seventh piece of the puzzle, and conquer it or use it or locate it, whatever it takes. I need to get this started. What happens if we wait too long? Besides, I feel these timestamps are horribly wrong. I mean, the system has been showing many glitches lately…"_

Arthur stopped the recording. He could have sworn he heard a hissing sound. Or scraping. Or a mixture of both. He perked up, reaching for his newfound gun and looked about. The wind creaked through the house. Arthur turned towards each window and door. The backdoor emitted the same sound, followed by a low groaning. His heart jumped to his throat. He threw open the door, feeling himself tremble.

A creature, a person? Lay before him. It was barely more than a muddy puddle of flesh with legs and a wilted face. Arthur held the gun before him, his hands remembering how they once could be steady, and he took a stance.

"What do you want?" He asked.

It groaned at him, a long, rattling sound that sent shivers up and down his spine. Its long hand reached for him, grasping his ankle and digging into it. It lurched forwards, attempting to launch itself at him. Arthur let out a yelp and shot at its head. The blood and brains splattered across him, spraying the old wood around him, but the creature continued to twitch and grip. Arthur shot another bullet through its chest, where he could see veins frantically pulsing. Arthur wrenched his feet away. He heard another groan from somewhere. Was this the Town's army, coming for him? Arthur felt panic rising up in him, faster and faster. He had tucked some food into his backpack, which he checked with a firm pat. He considered rushing in and grabbing the blanket that had been so dear to him the past night, but another rumble of groaning sounded and he rushed out. He prayed to find something with wheels in the back of the cottage, where he hadn't checked yet.

No luck. Not even a unicycle.

Instead, he found more of those creatures rushing towards him, creeping or actually running if they had good feet. Along with the sound of their noise he heard, like a jeer, the screech of tires.

He began to sprint. Unfortunately, right into the direction of the car rumbling towards him. It veered around him, sending out a plume of sickly dust. A rattle of gunfire shot from it, sparking against the creatures that crawled towards them. They grunted as the flutter of shots brought them down one by one. Someone stood on the top of the military grade vehicle, holding a heavy gun in front of him, balancing it on the edge of the car like a sentry. The man had a sunburnt face and blissfully seemed unaffected. He turned towards Arthur who had been grazed by a bullet and held his arm tightly, feeling blood trickle out.

"Wo—ah!" He cried and the car slowed to a roll. "We've got a runner here!" The man looked down at him, grinning. His face was scarred, but friendly.

The driver of the car poked her head out, her oddly cut hair - patchy and short and blonde - blew in the wind. "Oi, I see him alright. Thought he was a near sentient one of 'em."

"No, I'm normal!" Arthur cried out, his heart still racing. The woman stopped the car before him. She scrutinised him closely, furrowing her brow.

"Doubt that but go in. I can't waste time. He'll blow himself up there if he waits any longer."

Arthur clambered into the truck, finding a seat near the shooter's legs. He looked about as he milled them down. The woman scrunched her face and veered the car away, grumbling something indistinct.

"Thank you," Arthur said. The wound on his shoulder seemed to be healing, if ever so slowly.

"Don't mention it. She'd like you, up there in the Big House." She laughed unkindly.

The man who had the gun sat down, leaving his makeshift sentry ready for use just above his head. He grinned at Arthur.

"You got a name?" His hair was frazzled.

"Ah, yes, Arthur." He held out a hand. The man slapped it, laughing. Arthur felt the sting and turned away, trying to smile back but feeling to dumbfounded by the recent events to muster up even a polite chuckle.

"What's a… fellow like you doing out there alone? Usually you guys come in groups."

"I was camping out at the cot over there. It was quite quaint, really."

They sighed and shook their heads at him.

"And what do you mean by 'you guys' anyway?"

The woman spat something out the window. "Y'idiot. You don't just go into people's cots and live there. That's where Grim lives and he isn't a nice fellow now is he?"

"Nope, not at all," her cohort replied jovially. Their cadence seemed oddly familiar to Arthur, who now looked at the landscape escaping behind him. He saw the village not too far off, rising with smoke. And, beyond it, he glimpsed the tip of the mountain his old home was located in. After that the land stretched into dusty nothingness, surrounded by blank sun.

"Probably why those things attacked you," she continued. "They smelled fresh meat that wasn't Grim and they came hunting. Thought you were weak enough to be an easy meal. Lucky for you we came swooping by."

"Yes, that was kind of you, but how did you —?" Arthur was interrupted by the other man.

"Yep! Bam, I shot 'em good didn't I, sis?"

"Sure."

"And, you won't believe this, they had a whole lot more than usual. Wish we could have looted but we had to pick you up. Too bad they'll rot straight into the ground. Maybe we can still get some things out of them."

"Get some fresh meat and gems for me while you're at it, then." She retorted. He rolled his eyes and turned back to Arthur.

Arthur shook himself out of his reverie and faced the man. "Thank you for saving me back there. What's your name?"

"Some call me Kyle, some call me Jett, whatever floats your boat." He shrugged. He had a long gash across his nose and his brown hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. He swept it away. Arthur felt the accent he used was painfully familiar. But it couldn't be what he thought it was, could it? It's origin was so far away. The woman also felt agonisingly familiar.

"I'm Ali. Thank you for asking."

"Ali the Alley Cat." Jett added.

"Oh, you're welcome." Arthur grinned at her.

She smirked back at him through the cracked mirror.

"So, ah, Kyle?"

"Yea?"

"How'd you not shoot me? I mean, what difference was there between a hobbling man like me and a bunch of… them?"

"Well, for one you were running at us, and for a second you were almost being eaten by them. If they have fresh meat they don't resort to cannibalism, usually. And if they do it's always in wherever they come from, in the labs or their underground tunnels. Wasn't hard. What kind of question is that, anyway? We'd always help a man in need." He patted Arthur's back.

"You two look very young for hunting those monsters." Arthur continued. "Where'd you come from?"

Kyle shrugged. "Here and there. We're taking you somewhere to be safe. Safer is what I should say. That's where we live. Good old Camp."

"Quit blabbering." Ali hissed. "Be quiet."

Kyle fell silent, staring out the windows. Arthur looked, too, seeing only crumbled earth and shattered stones. Decayed brick homes sunk into the piles of dust and dirt. A path, nothing left but stone shards, winded through the homes. Ali's fingers gripped tighter around the wheel.

Finally they passed the area and came close to a sort of metal camping ground. Kyle began chattering again, having past the graveyard of homes. Arthur slipped out of the car. He held his bag close to him, wary of these people. And yet he had completely trusted the two who had taken them into their own car. That, lest he forget, had a hefty machine gun mounted on top of it. Wasn't he beyond worrying at this point?

A few dirty-faced people looked up from cooking fires and their work. Several smiled at Kyle who bounded, like an excited puppy, towards them. He stood to talk before each one, leaving Ali and Arthur behind at the car.

Arthur looked at the woman, who was shorter and grimmer than him. Her face was angular, pointed out towards the lot before them with approval. She squinted, like she couldn't see very well.

"Is he your brother?" Arthur asked.

"No. But he came here all weird and hopeless. Got lost from his old home, and I took him in and fed him. Now he clings to me like a dog." She smiled, nevertheless. "I don't know where he came from but he speaks so differently. He said he came from far away. Where he was a moment ago, it seemed to him, it was cold. But you should ask him about it later. It's interesting."

"And you all just trust me with this sort of private information?" Arthur asked.

Ali paused. "I oughtn't but… I feel as though I should." She shrugged. "My instincts are rarely wrong I can assure you. So perhaps you will bring about something good. And, if you did let anything slip, I'd cut that tongue out." Ali patted her pocket.

"You've had practice?" He could see the shape of a butcher knife beneath the leather of her pants, strapped to her leg with a string of some sort.

"Plenty."

She pointed towards another home, far off. A man sat before a tiny fire, looking fearfully in their direction.

"Really?" he had only been joking, after all.

"Yes. I'm not fooling with you." She turned and walked away, towards the side.

Kyle returned to Arthur's side.

"Had a nice conversation?"

The bouncing, swooping accent fell over each word. Kyle must have come from very, very far away. And it must have taken him a lifetime if he walked, but here he was: young. And Ali had said that he felt he was somewhere else only a moment before. How could that be possible? Arthur hadn't travelled quickly in a long time. And even then it didn't just happen to a person. Besides, wasn't Kyle just a regular old guy who happened to have two names and a half-moon shaped scar across his face?

Arthur wanted to prod him, but the smell of cooking meat caused his stomach to rumble. Kyle must have either heard or was hungry himself, for he took him towards Ali's home, chirping about cooked rabbit.

They ate in silence. Arthur relished the flavour of cooked food. When the meal was done and Ali began making a pot of tea from leaves she somehow found, Arthur sat on an aged sofa. Kyle had wandered out again, calling out to some children to play a game of ball.

Ali set the tea down before Arthur, who happily picked it up. He hadn't had real tea in who knows how long. And, although this one was bitter and tasted more like roots than leaves, it made him smile. It wasn't one of fake powders and hot water. It was real.

"Haven't had tea for a while?" Ali smiled at him.

"No, well, not like this. Nothing like this."

"I figured as much. You came from that cliff side thing didn't you?" She spoke eloquently. She had a bit of the urban accent that hung around Kyle as well. At least it was better than the broken and chunky English he had heard only a day before.

"How'd you guess?" Arthur smiled, the crow's feet at his eyes crinkling.

"The suit. Who wears that ridiculous attire anymore? The land's almost safe. Well, not really, but it can be traversed without that weird thing. It must be heavy."

"No. It's a newer model. It's not as cumbersome."

"I'll get A— I'll get Kyle to get you something to wear that's better," she said quickly, waving her hand dismissively. She turned away from Arthur, looking out the open door to where Kyle was tossing around a small ball between the group of dirty faced children. Ali's face was thin and sharp, cutting into the light that surrounded it.

"I see. Thank you. I appreciate that. What do you want in return?"

She dismissed him. "No I don't trade."

"What do you do to get things, then?"

"I scavenge, here and there." She shrugged. "Trading was always… Someone else's deal."

"Whose?"

Ali chose not to respond to him and cleaned up their cups instead. "You can bunk on the couch here. I'll get you something for those wounds of yours. I'd recommend the great town sights but, as is, bed rest might be better."

As promised, she returned with salves and a bandage. However, the shallower cuts had healed and Arthur's ribs felt only dully sore. But another wound, a gash at his foot he hardly remembered getting, was steadily swelling. Ali bandaged it up deftly and let him rest, leaving to another room where he heard something like music play softly. Was it a radio or a recording that had somehow survived? Arthur couldn't tell.

Before he went to sleep, he considered listening to the next recording. There were twelve total, according to the tiny monitor with lime green lettering.

 _"It seems to me that I will have to get about protocol in an audacious manner, shall we say. The Overseers seemed to have been wary of people like myself wandering off, in case we found those messages or went crazy. And even then they were hard to get to. Not that they were stored under a lock or passcode. Anyone could get to the Committee files theoretically. But they were labelled under such odd titles like 'gardening with sunflowers' and other nonsense. Seems that accidental findings were inevitable. Any curious navigator of the files could stumble across it. Or if you knew what it was and you were that appointed, special person who was destined to get it._

 _"Special one my ass. If anyone's gonna do it it will be someone who is determined and informed. Even if I fail, this will serve as a way to relay the mission. I recorded some other information as well in other slots._

 _"Anyway, I set up a sort of gig. Something lives just beyond our borders and if I can get it to appear on the map as a threat, I have enough reason to get away. Once I get out of range I'll disable my tracker in the suit, a special code I added to my faceplate, and bam! I'll be out of their scrutiny in no time._

 _"They've warned about going aboveground for too long could lead to death from the radiation and toxicity, but after careful monitoring I feel that I could survive this. I should. Like the timestamps, the outside readers seem faulty. I've found signs of life outside on many missions and they seemed human. What else could they be? A small animal would technically have less of a chance of survival in harsh wastelands. I ought to be fine. I will be fine. Maybe I'll die along the journey. And if I can get it just barely started, I feel as if I can be satisfied._

 _"Because someone will hear this. I can't be the only person to discover what I've found."_

The recording ended. Arthur lay in the darkening room. It had taken most of the day to just get here, and yet he felt as if he was wasting precious time just lying around. He'd get going the following day, maybe asking for provisions. If there was any remaining way to contact the others, it would be in the city. And the city had a copy of the files from he Committee as well. Everything lay there.

All of his answers.

At least, he believed so.


	3. Gift Horse

**Chapter 3**

 _Gift Horse_

"Well, you'll need to borrow a car and provisions." Ali looked uncomfortable. Arthur had come up asking her for advice on getting into the city. "And the city's not what it used to be. It's a deathtrap, now. Kyle and I went a while ago to get some things. I'm surprised we made it out at all."

"I need to go there, Ali. You don't understand. I'm not going for a sorry jaunt. I have things I need to do, promises I made a terribly long time ago that are past overdue."

She frowned at him. "Why? You could stay here and live. Why would you throw yourself into danger so willingly?"

"I have to." Arthur began to feel anger rising up in him. Bitter. "Look, your life is all perfect here, I know, but it's not mine."

Ali began to grow red. She turned away towards the kitchen. He heard rummaging and the slamming of drawers. He exchanged a look with Kyle who only shrugged. He went towards Ali who was tossing things haphazardly towards Arthur's rucksack, which he had left on the table. She glanced at him bitterly.

"You want to go, you'll… You'll die you idiot."

She unlocked a lower drawer and rifled through a heavy load of things Arthur couldn't quite see. She picked up something in a cloth cover. A gun. She pointed it towards Arthur who seized up immediately. He held his hands up and she laughed bitterly. Tossing it aside, she approached him. And administered a hard slap to his face, one that vibrated.

"I told you you're a fucking idiot."

"Why did you hit me? You're trying to kill me!" Arthur rubbed his cheek. She kicked his shins, sending him stumbling back.

"Because you'd die in two seconds out there. You bleeding asshole. You're old and weak. You stopped when you saw a gun? You should have run or moved instead of standing there like some sort of rabbit! And you're stumbling from these light pinches?" She punched his chest, sending him staggering further back. Kyle rushed over.

Standing between them, his hands out, he turned on Ali. "What the bloody hell are you doing? He's your friend!"

"I don't make friends with stupid shit like him." Tears had begun to spring into her eyes, much to Arthur's surprise.

"I didn't know you felt that way about me." Arthur said. He approached her, touching her stiff shoulders.

"I did. And now you don't even remember me." She hissed at him.

"What?" he exchanged a look with Kyle who offered only a firm gaze. Kyle took Ali by the shoulders and walked her off. Arthur took the chance. He grabbed his things, along with one of the spare keys Ali had tossed in her tantrum. He shrugged the bag on. His new clothing, Kyle's hand-me-downs, did prove more comfortable than the suit he had come so far wearing. Although, it did partially pose the scarred design on his upper shoulder. In the Build he had been so careful to hide it. But this was freeing. He considered taking another pair as he heard footsteps approaching him. He began to walk out the door, brushing past the mosquito curtains.

Now he just had to find which car the key belonged to. He walked towards the lot where several of them, in varying states, were parked. Some slumped, really.

"Stop."

Arthur turned, despite himself.

Ali stood before him, alone.

"My name is Alice." She said.

"Well, that is a nice name."

"No. You really can't remember? I remember you. Clearly." She approached him, brushing her strangely cut hair out of her face. She stared up at him, standing a good bit shorter. Her eyes were the same emerald shade as his own, but puffy with distress. "You've been gone for so long."

A sparkle of recognition fluttered inside of him.

She touched his arm. Where she touched it burned horribly. Arthur almost withdrew but something held him firmly in place. The pain crawled up his arm. Before him, Alice seemed to grow weaker and older.

She said softly, "I had hoped you'd remember. As if that would give you your youth back."

"I haven't been young in a long time."

"Yes, but you haven't ever been this old. Something's happened to you. You saw Kyle. He's so young. And it's been centuries. You, it's like the life's getting sucked out of you."

Arthur started to tug his hand away. The pain was becoming unbearable. He felt like he would retch again. "Stop…" Alice gripped him tighter.

"I thought I could protect you. I thought if you remembered who I am you'd remember who you are. We're so similar. The very fibre of us is the same. And then you could know what you're getting yourself into. You wouldn't risk dying." She let go harshly. "Cheers." Her body was thinner beneath the heavy pants and shirt. Arthur felt the burning lap up his head and throat, burning like alcohol. "If you die, I die."

"You selfish…" Arthur grimaced. She'd given him something. He felt stronger, lighter. And he felt more capable, too. Selfish was not what he should have called her.

"We made a pact. Can't you remember even that?"

"Vaguely." Something distant glimmered in his mind. Vague, abstract. A pact? An oath? These were old terms that barely woke in his mind. But the images shattered when she sighed. She rubbed the ends of her hair.

"I had long hair before. It was beautiful and golden. They called me a princess and I ate it all up. It's only when all of this happened that I chopped it off. You know things' importance diminish when your world ends…

"Just go. Come back and we won't be here." She turned away. Her shoulders spiked with anger. "And it's the red car."

She paused. Arthur couldn't think of what to say to her.

"I wasn't kidding about the city or trying to scare you. It really is a death trap."

. . .

And it was.

And he hadn't even entered it yet.

Boredom fell away when he reached it. He had been trying to listen to the rest of the recordings as he drove, but all he ended up hearing was static and the tune of a corrupted file.

The city had been reduced to rubble. Nary few buildings stood. Some tall and old brick ones still crept towards the sky. Arthur could see that even as he drove up. He could also hear gunshots and screams. Movement littered the city, where plumes of smoke leapt into the air. The acrid smell had not met Arthur yet. He gripped the steering wheel, hesitantly accelerating. The sooner he could get in and out, the better for—

CRACK

Something hit his window. Arthur slowed down. A spot of impact was left on his rear window, spreading out like a cobweb on the dirty glass.

WHACK WHACK WHACK

Arthur wasn't sure whether to stay or leave the car. His heart raced. More spiralling shards of broken glass appeared, some on his back windows as well. He saw figures approaching from all sides. Mutants and people alike. A body slammed against his side of the car, sending the suspension rocking. A woman's face had broken against the window. Her crushed nose and splintered bones slid down the window, followed by grossly matted hair. Her eyes bulged as they fell out of sight. Arthur reached around for his gun.

What he really needed was some help. Anything. He hoped another squeal of tires would come his way and Alice would rejoin his group. But nothing sounded but the groans and calls. Arthur had to fend for himself. Tears began to ooze out of his eyes. He fought them back, bracing himself. With his bag tucked securely into his jacket and his gun at ready, Arthur stopped the car. Another body came crashing towards him. Where they suicides or murders? Arthur had no time to ponder. He slammed the door open on another figure that approached him, hearing a thunk. Arthur slid out of the car quickly, rushing in the direction of the city. A few bodies littered his way. His heavy boots crunched past them, making his stomach churn. But he had no time to throw up, and nothing in him to spare, either. Someone began running towards him, a sentient person.

"Rrrrrrr?" The person called, or more like garbled, raising a pipe. The man hobbled after him, his starved legs exerting with the effort. His hair was half shaved and his eyes were all crazy. His cheeks puffed out, swollen. Arthur turned and shot him in the knees. The man let out a yelp and crumbled forwards, tossing his pipe. He twitched horribly. The pipe bounced off Arthur's own knee and sent a spike of pain he had no choice but to ignore. He continued running.

"Gerrr 'em!" Another voice screeched. Arthur glanced over his shoulder, terrified to see another group of men and women rushing him. Behind them, a few were left to ransack his car. Their sunken cheeks twisted in grins. Foam dripped out of their mouths.

They were starving.

Did they want Arthur's food or did they want Arthur to be food? Maybe they just wanted to rob him or kill him. Arthur really did not want to be someone's lunch.

Whatever their reason, he was horribly outnumbered. Another propelled piece of — was it rock? — Flew past his ear. The people behind him chanted incoherently. These people had reached the end of their wits. They had somehow survived on killing and possibly cannibalism. Another rock hit Arthur square in the back and he stumbled forwards, turning and holding out the gun. It shook before him. He couldn't possibly aim.

Which was another short lived thought. Something else was hunting both him and the group of starving people. Some sort of creature. It stomped forth and swooped up a group of people, slamming them to the ground with its massive, veiny arms. It howled in what seemed like agony. Arthur let out a petrified and somewhat shrill scream.

The thing.

It wasn't something he could even focus on. Its ribcage lay bare to the world, rising and falling in its flesh netting with each bloody breath it took. The misshapen face swung around, its oblong chin, sideways and scattered with teeth, grinding with an effort to make noise. Arthur continued to move. The people before him were stopped by another heavy blow. The man in front of him fell, the arm swinging his body down and grasping it by the neck, smashing the man by his head. Arthur became splattered with pink debris. He stumbled to the ground.

The creature howled again. The people began to either race towards it in a manic or in attack. Two of those such attackers were also picked up in one fell swoop by their legs, and smashed into the ground. The creature, a man by vague means, stopped to put some sort of gore into its mouth. It chewed hungrily, sniffing about. Its eyes were shut with lumps of overgrown skin.

It couldn't see.

Arthur trembled before it. Did it have enhanced hearing or smell? What could Arthur even do to protect himself? He scooted back a bit, his hands slick with blood he had touched on the ground. The creature swung at him.

"Smell…" It groaned. The voice sounded like grinding bones. Arthur's ears hurt to hear it. "Smell…"

It slammed a fist down near Arthur. Arthur swallowed another scream. He doubted his gun would do anything to defend against the behemoth.

"Not… Smell food…"

It paused, sulking before Arthur. It ripped the arm off another fallen body and shoved it into its mouth, turning away to the food. It didn't seem to care for Arthur. Maybe he just didn't smell meaty enough.

Arthur scrambled to his feet and started running.

Which was not a good idea. Even if he was not food, he was still a threat. Arthur held his gun before him and aimed. His breath came raggedly.

POP POP POP POP

He wasted two bullets before the last one hit its ear. He shot another towards its nose. It spiralled back, heavy feet thumping. The feet were gnarled, Arthur noticed. It could not run. Its only advantage was in its breadth of step. Arthur began to jog this time. His sides hurt with a splintering stitch. If he pushed himself any further, the dangers of the city would eat him up.

The creature, befuddled by the smell of blood and loss of hearing, slumped to the ground. It howled in pain, slapping the earth for some sense of direction.

Arthur felt bad for it.

He crossed a threshold to the city, where the small rubble stood. The fringes of the city. Somehow it had survived the attack. The land around it had not been so fortunate. Yet, looking at what once had been his home, his heart hurt. He stopped to breathe, standing in the shadow of a leaning wall. He looked around, towards the centre. Towards where a dried up river gaped into the earth like a burn scar. He looked at the fallen bridges around him, the destroyed homes, the hopeless structures now reduced to skeletons. He began to scrape the blood off his hands.

Tiny memories floated by in his head. Tiny, insignificant things.

There, he had walked a dog he once bought on impulse. The small puppy yelped at every passerby happily. Here, a tree once stood. It was great and massive. Here, he helped a student pick up her books. There, by the river, he helped a group of ducklings settle back into the water.

The unpleasant bubbles of memory formed too.

The war, the older one. The sirens. The howling in the night that petrified people walking by. The centre of the city with its great tolling bells. The tears he shed when he knew it would be the last time he would ever hear it.

Arthur felt tears finally leak down his cheeks. He wiped them away gruffly, smearing blood as he did so. He felt repulsion at that and wondered where he could find water.

And, come to think of it, he hadn't seen a single source of running water in the entire time he was outside. All the water he found was still in bottles or cans.

Something must be blocking what once was the River Thames, then, if it was so barren. It connected to the ocean. At least it did.

Arthur felt a shudder. He realised that this was no longer London. It was what once was London, a corpse, rotting and defiled. All the buildings that stood no longer held artefacts or shopping malls. Other, darker secrets stood here. He knew where he had to go. Old Big Ben. Even if it no longer stood, it didn't matter. What he needed lay just beneath.

Arthur began to set off in that direction, having calmed his breathing and pumping heart. He glanced at the buildings and instantly regretted it. It had become a graveyard. Burned, empty skeletons sat alongside tumorous corpses, laying along walls and scattered like dead flowers. These people hadn't been spared anything. Their shadows were painted behind them. These bodies no one seemed to have touched. But was only the outside. There was another shelter later on. Arthur recalled this vividly. And seeing what the people just outside had displayed, he didn't doubt that another monstrosity would befall him here.

He needed a better weapon than just a gun. His rucksack didn't have much for that. Perhaps Alice considered the gun sufficient. Or she doubted his upper body strength. If he could get something as simple as club he'd be fine. But, with his body, a machine gun or bazooka would be better.

After some time, he paused.

A light flickered near his feet.

Someone was singing, the words inaudible.

He'd never heard a song like that before. Or a voice so sweet. The lights were coming out from a door beneath the street, leading into a place with a happy lady as its sign. Arthur pushed the door open.

A handful of people sat around at tables, bartering. At the front a woman was singing. She sat at the edge of the stage. Her song dissolved into a lilting hum before coming back to words. Arthur looked around, seeing if anyone had any clubs or pipes or whatever. He realised he should have taken the lead pipe from the stranger earlier. But he had had no choice.

"Five knives? You're out of your bleeding mind."

"It can't be worth any more. What's on there?"

"Good stuff, sir, good stuff."

"Porn can't be worth more than these knives. These are good knives."

The man shoved the pack of leather-bound knives forwards. Arthur stopped at that table. A few wary glances were thrown his way. The blood and its smell must be deterring, Arthur realised vaguely. The singing woman was moving through the crowd now, flashing her glittering dress. Eyes went to her instead. She spared Arthur a glance which he did not notice nor return.

The woman who was doing the trades glowered at the knife man and shoved it back. "No thanks. I dug it out myself. It was buried deep. Good tech here. I don't want some damn pervert to abuse his poor limp dick with this."

Arthur glanced at the traded object. It was a hard drive.

A very, very familiar hard drive.

And it had an insignia on it. Faded, but still there. The sign of the Committee.

"I need that." He barged in. "I believe, miss, that this is mine."

The woman growled at him, shoving it closer to him. The man had lost interest and was moving on. Another man had a selection of dirty magazines on display along with stacks of yellowed books. More his taste anyway, Arthur thought.

"Yours my arse, bloody face."

Arthur lowered the sleeve of his shirt and showed off a tattoo.

"See? Same as the one there." He pointed at it: stars bound by a wreath, held by an olive branch.

"Fanatic I see."

She nodded.

"So can I have it? For the good of England, for the nations."

"What are you going on about? What the fuck is an 'England'?"

"For the good of Britain! Your home."

"You don't know shit about my home. You trade or I don't give you anything. We have a rule here, old man. You're new here so I'll let you in on a secret." She grinned and leaned forwards. "You trade you leave. Or you don't come at all. I have half a mind to kick you out with that gore crap on you."

Arthur sighed. He needed that hard drive. It was an important piece of information, no matter what it held.

"Fine." He dug around his bag. He brushed the headpiece. His first find from the world above. It wasn't much use. It could only play the first recordings anyway. And where he was going, he'd find something else to play the rest. He held it forwards. Her eyebrows arched, the studs along them rising as well.

"Anything special about this?" She picked them up by the earpieces.

"They were developed in the Enviro-Build. State of the art."

She laughed out loud. "Enviro-Build? That's rich. At least you got a sense of humour, old man."

"You don't like the Enviro-Builds?"

"About as much as you'd like any other cruel joke. You heard the stories. They're death machines and cult breeding chambers. Those who went in never came out. Say the computer went faulty. Or, I heard a rumour," she leaned closer again, "That they never really existed. All just a rumour."

"Ah, I see." Arthur smiled weakly. What happened in the other Builds? What went wrong? He had hoped to ask about the mutant creatures. But it wasn't the place. He didn't want to seem too alien. They might attack him, too. "So, can I have the drive?"

"No."

"You're robbing me. Isn't this enough proof?" He pointed again the the scarred tattoo on his chest.

"I didn't run up and snatch it. I found this. Why would you bury it, anyway?"

"You're being bothersome."

"No, I'm being a good trader. Now, how about this, you complete a task for me and I give it to you."

"How do I know you won't trade it off?"

"I'll take the weird 'Build' shit as compensation." She picked up the headpiece and examined it. "It is fascinating. I'd like to take it apart."

"Fine. What do you want me to do?" Arthur watched her warily.

"Go to the Crazy King." She laughed.

"What?"

"Go to the Scott King, up up north. You can take a train there. If you can find one. And then rob the old palace blind of all its rich cloths and treasures and anything you can get."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, that's put it this way. Are you really prepared to do anything for this thing?" She waved the hard drive before him. Its insignia glittered. "You seem desperate."

"Because I want it back."

"Yeah, ok. Anyway, if you're really wanting it, I'll hold on to it for you for two weeks. If you come back then with something of value, not a train load I was only joking, then I give it to you in exchange."

"How is that piece of computer worth a two week journey into the dangerous hell-scape?"

"Nice angle, but no, old man. I know it's worth the world to you. I can see it in your eyes. And fair is fair. As compensation, I'll take your headpiece and lead you in the direction."

"How is that fair? What will you give me."

"Directions."

"That's not enough." Arthur was growing annoyed with the conversation. She only grinned back at him.

"Got me there. Come along." She gathered her trading goods into a sack, heaving it over her shoulder. She nodded to the songstress who now swayed between a group of men who had almost started fighting. Now they distractedly argued, throwing vulgar winks her way. Better than blows. Arthur had to admire the technique.

She exited the tavern with Arthur in tow. The walked out of the street, her boots clicking against the stone. She held out a hand, "I'm Grim."

Grim. Didn't he know that name?

"Do you have a cabin, then, Grim?"

"No. My brother does. The other Grim." She fell sombre for a bit and then smiled anyway. "My first name is Emma but I think Grim is much better for a salesperson. So I took his name. Sort of a postmortem gift."

"I see. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Nah, he was a bastard anyway. The commute back and forth got him good."

"Oh… So what are you giving me?" Arthur changed the subject.

"A mode of transportation. There is a train station but the rails are fucked up like shards of ribbon." Grim made a twisting motion with her hands. "But horses can go fast. Especially the ones I want to show you. Here," she paused. Arthur heard the clopping of hooves on stones. Horses? How the hell did horses survive?

Except, they hadn't.

The horses drew a carriage led by an elderly man. Grim waved.

"Get over here."

The horses that drew it were not very much alive. They moved deftly, shaking their manes. But their sides were sucked in, clinging to the bones beneath. One was a bruised yellow colour, its mane strangled in the few places it remained. The other had more hair, but not by much, and was a dull shade of blue. That one nickered when it saw Arthur. He didn't feel quite as scared by it. Not that he should feel scared. A giant monster had attacked him only a few hours before. The yellow one had a braid in its tail and talismans dangling from it. The man stopped in front of them.

"A ride?" The man asked.

"Yes, out towards the Ranch. Sit in front, Arnold."

"It's Arthur." He tried to correct, but she had already crawled behind the man. He climbed up, sitting behind the blue horse. It huffed at him. The man grunted.

"Gritsy usually goes an' kicks whoever's sitting behind her. Bucks 'em good."

"Ah, thank you." He tried for a smile but the man only seemed confused.

They drove on for a while, through the winding streets and avoiding the fallen buildings. Arthur watched the city bob alongside them. Grim was making small talk with the man, who only offered grunts in response. Eventually she gave up on him and began looking through her things. She picked up the headpiece and started to fiddle with it. The horses snorted occasionally.

At one point they stopped besides a building, not far off from the ruins of Big Ben. They stood, breathing and looking about. Arthur watched curiously. The man took the time to stretch.

"Do they need water or food?"

"That's what they're doing, sort of." Grim spoke up.

The man nodded. "Aye. Sniffing the radiation, whatever's left. Keeps 'em going."

The horses resumed their trot onwards. The sky steadily drew towards evening about them. The sun had all but set by the time they reached a ranch. For all their deadness, the horses did move fast. Arthur slid off along with Grim and went towards the blue horse, Gritsy. She sniffed and nudged his shoulder. Arthur dug around in his pack and found nothing to give. Instead he patted her muzzle, feeling the surprising softness of it. She leaned her heads towards him. Her one blind eye focused elsewhere, but her good eye - bold and brown - focused intently on him.

"He's bonded." The man said.

"I was going to take him to the ranch." Grim said. "I guess he's taken. I'll buy her off you. We have a deal."

"She kicked my other carriage and broke its suspension. Give me enough for a new, good horse." The man seemed relieved. He unbuckled the horse, standing off to the side. "If she doesn't run, that is…"

And she didn't. Arthur stood just as surprised as the man."Thank you."

The man waved him off.

Grim turned back to Arthur. The man and his yellow horse started going towards a lit barn off towards the distance. "You keep heading North and you'll see it. It's a castle. My brother made a trip up there once but whatever he saw scared him bad. Or confused him, and he doesn't talk of things unless he gets them completely. But he came unscathed and with a chalice. A chalice, believe that? So bring me something like that in under a week—"

"You said two weeks."

"—Two weeks, fine, and I give you the hard drive. Easiest thing."

Arthur agreed to it, shaking her bony hand. She stood off to wait for the man to come back and be her ride. Arthur turned to his new friend. He had no idea how to take care of her, but her instincts seemed strong. Maybe that would be enough.

"Just you and me now, girl."

. . .

Riding the horse had come to him naturally. He squeezed with his legs tight and did not grab her mane. He bounced as she did, his body adjusting easily. It came more easily even than driving. And driving had blinked back into his brain.

But this, this was liberating. He felt like he was soaring, and she must have too. She took long, broad strides and galloped. He hair brushed past him. Although it was, Arthur admitted, eerie to feel the shrunken fresh at his calves and occasionally hear a thumping sound that was a very slow, sluggish heartbeat.

Soon they had to stop. Arthur felt exhaustion draining him. He had hoped for a pond or lake, but only empty ones were around him. Even a dead tree would be of some comfort. Night had fallen thickly around them. The stars glittered like hard gems. Arthur looked for some place to park, urging Gritsy to slow to an amble.

Eventually he found a secluded forested area, albeit all the trees were but scorched corpses. He settled there, sliding off his horse. She sniffed the air about him before settling down too.

Even though the memory had returned, his muscles did not reappear. He legs were sore and blistering. He rubbed them softly, watching Gritsy settle down.

Arthur lay on his bag like a bulky pillow. "I thought horses slept standing." He joked.

She nickered at him, laying her head down. She watched him closely. She almost seemed to smile.

He slept for what felt like a blink. A blink that ended with a sharp kick to his head.


	4. The Crazy King

**Chapter 4**

 _The Crazy King_

Arthur dreamt, before he was awoken abruptly. He dreamt deeply and warmly. The world around him fell away, shed like skin, and beneath an exposed memory appeared. He felt about it, felt the salty air, the brine, the wind, the salt, the water. The water. He missed it dearly. He missed to reach out into the sky and declare directions flawlessly. He missed seeing lush green land awaiting him at each turn.

In his dream, memory floated to the surface, buoyed by the silence of sleep. Around him he saw men bleeding and torn, their eyes squinting against a harsh wind. Whenever Arthur tried to look ahead at what was cursing them with shard of icy water, he could not. The memory of him held him in place firmly. More deeply even than the terror he recalled in that moment.

A harsh slab of wall came crashing down towards him, knocking him back and sending a shooting pain up his spine. He had been strong. Whatever bruise he earned had bloomed and already faded. Another blow came crashing down, this one waking him.

Arthur startled awake, feeling his neck beat with pain and the sharpness of the boot that met him. He spat out blood and started to stand. A pair of arms shot down towards his back, but rocketed away before they could grab anything. Arthur got to his feet quickly.

A boy.

Gritsy stood proudly before him, snorting. She had planted her undead hooves firmly against the boy's chest and sent him rocketing back, hitting his head against a stone. The boy was collapsed, blood oozing out of his mouth in sticky clumps. Arthur approached him. Unfocused eyes following him, visibly terrified.

"Just I wanted a lick…" he hissed. He sputtered out more of what Arthur had assumed to be blood. It seemed, now, to be a sort of leaf. It looked almost like seaweed. Arthur blamed the resemblance on his dreams and knelt before him. "Speaks to me…" the boy muttered, his chest brokenly rising and falling.

"Poor boy. He's lost his mind." Arthur leaned down to pick him up but the boy flinched away. "Do you want help?"

Gritsy seemed to snort in dissatisfaction and turned away to graze on nearby radiation, emitting strongly from several hunks of what was once forest life.

The boy trembled. "Need no help, fine."

Arthur did not want a young boy's blood on his hands. The idea of the boy dying, even if he had tried to kill him first and then loot him, worried Arthur. "I have medicine." He suggested. The boy's eyes didn't focus on anything, nor did the pupils react. Head trauma.

"No need no medicines. Just need sleep." He shut his eyes, his head bobbing.

"Hey, no. Do you have a home, boy?" Arthur had two weeks to get to the legendary Scot King, after all.

"No! Go!" He backed up, his head leaning further against the rock. His hair was falling out in clumps. What remained stood in wispy white tendrils. He seemed to be grimacing at the sight of Arthur, recoiling each time Arthur tried to come closer.

"Oh come now, I won't hurt you. I want to help you."

"I need to DIE! Need be, let be. I be seeing things so bad, so bad. I better off on other land." He jerked, his eyes slowly shutting once more. "Down where the call, sweet voice. Smooth like…" Arthur felt sick to his stomach. He couldn't carry dead weight. Maybe he could dig the boy a grave, if it came to that.

It didn't. The boy began to seep into the earth, baffling Arthur.

He only did so part way, however, turning to dust and limping into a sunken skeleton before Arthur's eyes. Quickly, wound up by the wind, the body became a scrawny form with the odd coagulated blood still visible in his depleted jaw and stomach.

The answer was clear, he felt certain.

The boy had to be a mutant, Arthur decided. Even though he looked mostly normal. His actions, his speech, and his body were not normal. He seemed to resemble the people from that awful village that had first greeted his leaving of the Enviro-Build. Something was wrong with the boy, his decay being the prime example. Arthur was certain of that. Something else had gone wrong in the world above. Something much darker than the radiation that hovered on the fringes.

. . .

The castle was crushed.

Fallen stones crowded the front and sides. The top seemed to sag with age, holding up the barest of roofs. The only entrance was a man-sized hole at the side. Arthur thought he saw a sliver of movement there. He slipped off Gritsy.

"Be a good girl, find some radiation to chew on. Or sniff…" Arthur rubbed her nose. She nudged him fearfully. "I'll be alright. It's unlikely anything there can kill me." He smiled. She seemed almost pacified, stepping back hesitantly.

Arthur checked his rucksack for his things and patted his gun comfortingly. He checked for ammo. He had enough for a few more rounds. Again he longed for a weapon he didn't have to worry about reloading. Arthur approached the entrance and started to squeeze himself in. His feet found stable ground, but only for a brief moment. Hands grasped him, tugging him. A chill shot up his leg.

Arthur tumbled into the fading darkness, lighted by flickering candles. The hands that grasped him belonged to a pair of women. They stared at him wide-eyed, unspeaking. The soft gold light danced across their pale eyes.

"I didn't mean to intrude, I didn't think anyone lived here, really." Arthur began, but his hands were captured again and he was tugged away, his heels dragging against the stones. The ground of the castle, the long hallway, stretched behind him. The light from where he had come shone down. His feet had found the top of a wardrobe, its belly exposed and items slipping out. The rags were nothing but frayed threads.

Around him were skeletons. Piles and piles of them. Their dusty grins turned at him in mock greeting. Arthur squirmed, but the women's grasps were tight. They turned back to glance at him briefly. Their ornate, massive dresses dragged against the ground about him.

They dropped him in an open room. Around him the other hallways were separated by leaning pillars. The marble ground had an old, rotted rug covering it and curling up at the edges. A broken chandelier lay cast off in one of the piles of what seemed to be riches.

Riches like at the bottom of the sea. Old gold and tarnished metals surrounded him. Gems and dresses and cloths and, well, _riches_. Ahead it was too dark to see, a shadow fell across some of the piles. Arthur stood up, dumbfounded at what he was seeing. Grim wasn't joking. There really was something to be found here. Maybe her brother had been scared by the women? They seemed to want to help.

Arthur debated grabbing something and running. Grim never specified, exactly, what she wanted. Anything would do. Maybe the crown, with all its shattered gems, would be perfect.

And yet, the situation seemed uncanny. Nothing like this could simply lie there, ready for the taking. The hall seemed desperately familiar as well.

"Hello?" he called out. "I don't mean to rob you, but I just may!"

"Rob all you want."

The voice came from behind him. Arthur turned around, seeing no one.

"My riches are only worthless materials."

Now the voice was from ahead. Or the sides? All around him. Engrossing him.

"Aye, I have all I need."

"Can you show yourself, it's difficult to talk to someone who I can't see." Arthur called out vainly.

"But you," the voice ignored him, "you are flesh and blood and a pounding heart. You can FEEL. You can BREATHE."

A foul gust of air rushed past Arthur. He reached for his gun, still looking about frantically.

"What a pity. What a bloody pity."

The broken roof overhead seemed to tremble. The bits where clear sky poked out seemed to vibrate as well. It gave Arthur a headache to look at.

"I can fix that."

Something came sweeping down at him, massive and very sharp. Arthur ran to the side, crashing into a pile of clothing. It coughed a swirling plume of dust at him. The impact of what had fallen on him — the great length of a sword — shuddered the entire building. Arthur noticed groups of women in the doorways, watching him. Their eyes focused blankly, their hands covering their mouths. The sword trembled. Arthur looked for the hilt.

A hand, more skeleton than flesh, grasped it. Bits of skin flaked off.

It trembled as it raised the sword again. Where it had fallen was a sharp crevice.

"Did the other mortal come to tell you of this place?" the voice continued to boom. The sword rose, glinting in the pale sun. The people in the hallways shimmered and moved, like liquid. Like they weren't really there.

"No, well, yes, but also not exactly." Arthur said to the hand. The sword glinted.

"Vermin."

The point of the sword came falling on Arthur, screeching against the air. Arthur rolled out, rushing away. A second later the tip pierced through the cloth, sending out more dust and the sound of cracking stone. Arthur had spoken and it had found him. Maybe not it, the voice was a him. The deeply masculine voice, both luxurious and terrible.

Arthur walked as quietly as he could towards the edge, where another hallway opened up between withering pillars. Leaning against a soiled tapestry was a bard who played soundlessly on a harp. His head was bent down, his fingers plucking blank strings. Arthur spared him a glance. The bard lifted his head, his clear emerald eyes gazing directly at Arthur. Where there should have been a mouth was a strip of cloth.

The voice, the eyes. Pieces of a story unravelling.

Arthur rushed back into the room of treasures, looking towards the darkness before him. He thought he could make out specks of light. The sword, as tall as the walls themselves, still stood staked into the ground.

"Are you the King of Scots, sir?" Arthur called up.

The eyes.

"Aye. I am."

The sword trembled and lifted.

The eyes were so familiar. And the voice…

"You must have been a magnificent king in your youth, your highness!"

"Not magnificent, mortal. Beyond! I had been the king of all kings. In my time I had ruled the seas waved at the batting of my eyes, the clouds shifted with my breath, the seasons came with my mood. The world belonged to _me_."

The sword hovered in the air, its hilt unseen behind the darkness before him. The darkness had to be impossible. Where stairs and a banister should have risen was only impenetrable inkiness. The light overhead should have cut to it, but it didn't. And it was growing, sucking up light as it fanned out, closer to Arthur.

"In your time you must have conquered all your enemies, then."

"No."

Keep talking, Arthur willed, approaching the darkness with his gun's safety off. The person seemed so distant and yet so close. He itched at his memory, trying to crack it open.

"I had one enemy. A great enemy."

The darkness slipped about him, and Arthur could see a dim shape before him, crouched under what seemed to be a kingly cloak. Two blind eyes bobbed above him staring out. They were a pale green.

"The man must have been god himself to confront someone like you."

"No, but the bastard came close. The sun never set on him. He grew and grew and I did not. I fell before him. We warred."

Arthur aimed his gun at the eye.

The green, green eye.

"We were brothers."

Arthur stopped.

"Brothers?"

"Aye. He ruled below me and yet all around me. I lost myself to him."

The eyes shifted towards him, following his voice. They blazed with rage.

"BUT I WAS KING."

A skeletal hand came crashing down, sending Arthur flying into the wall. His back hit it, hard, knocking his breath out. Loose stones began falling upon his head. He felt blood dribble out of the corners of his mouth.

"You were never king, you fool." He hissed.

The hand's painful dryness enveloped Arthur, lifting him up like a toy. In the darkness, high up, he could make out a face. The sharp lines, the smattering of freckles, a youthful flicker like a reflection in a pond. But then it was gone and only the blind eyes stared out.

"What do you know, mortal. Sturdy as you are… This was before your time. Before our end was your pitiful beginning."

"How'd you lose your eyes?" Arthur asked, squirming in the giant grasp.

"They killed me. The sprayed acid in my eyes. The took my face and my vision. They took who I was."

"And so now you rot in the past. Brother."

"I … Brother? What are you?" The hand dropped him. Arthur crashed to the ground, his shoulder painfully impacting and popping out of place. The rest of his body was softened by the robe that spread around him, "Most of the mortals died when my blade first befell them. You are no mortal."

The darkness seemed to fade.

"I am a fool of a king." The voice became smaller.

Arthur tried to push his shoulder back in, painfully contorting it. This had been easier before, he recalled.

The last fight they had had.

"You think I'd forget you?" Arthur somewhat lied. "We seem to carry the same strain of madness. I'm fighting you after all. Come down to your proper size." Arthur huffed. "Face me."

"No! Why would I stoop to your level? You never stooped to mine."

"Because I didn't have to," Arthur pleaded. He could never win this fight. A bullet to the eye would have only annoyed him. He was dead and yet so much more powerful than Arthur himself. "Because we were the same. Back when you were more human." He could remember it. He could, he had to, he knew! But it came in such tiny fragments, awakened only by his surroundings, that he focused on terms vague enough to get the King to say what he needed him to.

"Humans did this to us!" the hands gestured around, their crooked fingers extending out into the sunlight, spots of red blistering where the light touched. One loosely held the sword. "And you want to be one of them. That was your fault you bastard of a brother. You and the rest."

The sword clattered to the floor. It rumbled the earth. Arthur looked about, seeing the people appear. All with their mouths covered, now peeling it off, revealing lipless, mouthless faces.

"Why'd you do this to the memory of you?" Arthur asked. "People want to remember you as a tyrant? That can't be right."

"A tyrant…"

"They cover their lips so you won't attack in rage. They live in silence. And once you had so much sound and glee."

"And then I died."

"Yes. I know this. You didn't die to become this."

"The glee was worth nothing."

Steps sounded forth. A man appeared before him. The eyes that were up ahead vanished. Arthur unsteadily came closer.

The man stared blindly ahead, his face mutilated and scarred. The rest of his body was worn to a ghostly pallor, bones sticking out where the flesh had become too frail. The kingly attire had been shed, leaving the war uniform. The last one he ever wore. His faded red hair seemed to glow like fire in the light.

"Why did you come, England?"

"I didn't really know you were here, to be honest. I came to rob you."

Scotland scoffed.

"Unsurprising."

His face turned vaguely towards him.

His hand reached blindly out, brushing his shoulder. He winced. "I did this to you."

"I'll live."

"I know. When you're dead all you can think is one thought sometimes. It's so easy to get in this rhythm, this dance of anger. This dance of oldness."

Around him the ghosts of people long past shuddered in and out of view.

"This is your grave."

"Our grave." He held his hands out. "At times I can still smell the ocean air. Don't you miss that?"

He did.

"You could join me. I can forgive you. We could all be reunited. I can gather our other brothers, bring them together. Then we can be like the old old days. Celebrate merriment with feasts and plays and maids and song!"

"I…" It had never occurred to Arthur that he could go back. He stared around the castle.

Of all the memories he had lost, the memory of family had been the hardest to lose. It clung thickly to his mind. Reminding him of honour in battles. Of ancient days.

"I can't." Arthur said.

The memory that he couldn't shake off at all was of his friends. And who he must find.

"Not yet. The world isn't dead yet."

"It will be soon."

"I know. Then I will come."

"Suit yourself." Scotland ebbed away until Arthur could no longer see him. "You may take the sword so long as you swear you will bring it back." His voice echoed out from somewhere.

Arthur grasped the fallen blade. It had become more human sized now, and felt luxurious in his hands. He glanced at his reflection in it, seeing the grey in his hair and the fatigue on his face.

But also the resilience.

It would be too easy to give up, to rot away while the rest of the world whittled to nothing. But there were others out there. There had to be. The world was to vast.

And that meant he needed the information Emma Grim had. He glanced about the gold, now more tarnished and faded than before. Dust covered it like a blanket. It was now a ruin.

"I'm still robbing you." Arthur said. "But not the sword. I take this as an oath." Arthur raised his brother's sword up. "We're not done here."

"Very well. Don't bring it back and I'll curse you."

"With what?"

But there was no response. The sounds dwindled to the shuffling of feet and the strum of a harp. The sting of quiet seemed to burn after the booming of rage. Arthur looked towards the now lightened banister and saw a torn tapestry, an several legs at the bottom still visible, four pairs to be exact. Two of them seemed to have more colour than the others.

Arthur had not yet won here, he thought, as he picked up a necklace that was still in decent shape. He brushed off its dust and set it in his bag. He looked for a scabbard and found one with emeralds still glittering, albeit chipped, along its side. Arthur stuck it at his side and slid the sword in. He caught his reflection on a dusted mirror and brushed it off. Cracks littered the sides. And maybe he saw just a few less grey hairs.


End file.
